


Make Me Smile

by RaccoonMama



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Old Man Romance, nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6045079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaccoonMama/pseuds/RaccoonMama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What started to worry him was that he wanted to see more of that smile." </p><p>Inspired by this image by herzspalter: http://herzspalter.tumblr.com/post/139455522710/and-some-schmoopy-fluff-sketches-for-now</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Starts roughly just after Megatron joined the crew. Timeline is hazy-ish after that. Self-indulgent fluff piece. I may do another chapter that's decidedly less PG, depending on interest.

He wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened.

He had, of course, been very professional when they had first met. He was, as a therapist, fascinated by what could have gone through the warlord’s mind when he started the war. The words and actions that affected him, the people that had influenced him. The first visit had been mandatory, but Megatron had absolutely no intention of being a patient.

It hadn’t helped that one of the people Megatron had listed as an influence in his rise to power was him. Rung was startled to hear that, as he didn’t recall initially what event he was talking about. He didn’t exactly frequent bars when he was active on Cybertron… but then, times had been very different, and so much had happened. He supposed it was possible. Megatron still expressed gratitude toward him, but it just served to feel more awkward now. They rarely discussed it.

Over time, their relationship had drifted to one of a sort of quiet camaraderie. Megatron had no friends aboard the Lost Light, save for Ravage, and the cybercat was constantly fickle in mood and temperament. So the slim psychotherapist had taken to saving books he found interesting and leaving them for the former warlord to find, or - when the situation unfortunately called for it - helping him scrub rude graffiti off the door.

The first several times this happened, Ravage was always there, watching with brightly glowing eyes, making very certain his presence was known. It was like he was judging Rung, watching, waiting for him to make some kind of mistake. As the visits became more frequent, however, Ravage let his presence drift into the background. If he was there, he did not want to be noticed, and the one time Rung distinctly recalled him nearby, he had matched optics with the minicon, who had given his head a faint nod before slinking off down the hallway.

Somehow, that made things feel much less weighted.

Eventually, a point came where the two would find a quiet, comfortable spot - usually in the space Mirage had briefly used for a bar - to share books and talk about what they’d read. It was a welcome break for both of them; for Megatron, constantly haunted by his past and staring into an uncertain future, and for Rung, constantly saddled with the worries and regrets of a crew who looked to him for help.

He learned a great deal about Megatron in those times. The helmet was a piece of armor, not actually part of his plating, hiding a rather ornate helm beneath it. He was surprisingly soft-spoken in comfortable company, reminding Rung in some ways of Optimus Prime (no small wonder, he thought, that the two butted heads so often… they were more alike than either one cared to admit).

He also had a charming smile.

It was so rare a sight that when he first let his lip plating curve upward in Rung’s presence, the therapist didn’t believe he was seeing it right. Perhaps he needed to see the medics to have his glasses checked, or he was being deceived by a play of the light. But no, Megatron had smiled, turning his head away as he did. They had been discussing a series of glossa-in-cheek, dryly humorous observations of the war, written by an unaligned mech calling themselves Silverwing. Some of the terminology was so over the top that it had Rung chuckling, and one of those times, he had looked up just in time to see that Megatron had also taken some amusement from the fact.

What started to worry him was that he wanted to see more of that smile.

For the moment, he did his best to avoid showing that this affected him. He enjoyed their meetings, as since Ratchet had departed the ship, he really didn’t have anyone he could speak to comfortably. For all the old CMO’s faults, he’d been surprisingly hardy, and open about his traumas. He was a good mech who wore his spark on his arm plating, and Rung had been sad to hear of his departure.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t go mingle at Swerve’s, either. But so many members of the crew were his patients that he couldn’t bring himself to develop relationships with them. There were far too many still open wounds to rub any sulfur there.

No, it was just… easier, and felt more natural, to sit for long hours with the ship’s co-captain. Their relationship was polite, friendly, professional… he trusted Megatron to tell him when something crossed a line, and Megatron trusted him in kind. He did have to wonder if it was hard for him to even trust anyone outside of Ravage aboard this ship, but he never pressed. There simply wasn’t any need to.

Budding affection aside, he could manage. Megatron did not need to know, and he didn’t need to discuss it. These quiet moments, friendly and mild, were worth more than saying something that may break that trust.

The event that shifted things occurred late one night while they were looking over a rather sappy collection of poetry from various artists writing under pseudonyms. He was reading one aloud, his head down a little smile playing on his faceplate at the flowery terminology when at all once, he heard Megatron make a thoughtful sound.

“You haven’t looked up all night.” The words startled Rung, and he did jerk his head up, blinking a few times up at Megatron. The warlord was gazing down at him with a thoughtful expression, his browridge knitted slightly. “Are you feeling well?”

For the first time, Rung honestly felt a little flustered. His own browridge lifted as a million answers to that question ran through his processor, and he gave a little cough, forcing a smile. “Oh, no, I’m quite all right. Just a little tired is all.”

Megatron did not seem convinced. His expression didn’t change, and he leaned forward, placing himself closer to optic level with the much smaller mech… and closer in proximity overall. “I have seen you tired, Rung. This… is not tired. If you are uncomfortable around me-”

“No no no, that isn’t it at all!” Rung blurted, then snapped his mouth shut with an audible click, optics wide. He hadn’t particularly meant to interrupt, but he genuinely had not meant to imply that he was in any way uncomfortable with Megatron. “It’s… complicated.”

Slowly, Megatron sat back, but he was still leaning forward with his arms folded across his thighs. “Complicated enough that talking about it has clearly set you on edge. We can talk again at another time, if you need.”

Rung paused, considering the implications. He could put this off, do his best to completely ignore or forget this awkward moment had ever happened. Or he could swallow his pride and try broaching the subject, with the hope that it wouldn’t destroy the fragile trust they had already built.

His optics drifted down to the poem he had been reading. The author had used the pen name “Aquarius,” one of the ten signs of the old Cybertronian zodiac. He’d seen the writing before… in a full collection of poetry. They hadn’t gotten to it yet in their meetings. Some of the writings were… surprisingly intimate.

“It’s the writing,” he offered, trying to find any excuse he could for how flustered he was. “This particular writer- Aquarius. Their work is so… sparkfelt. I have a full collection of their work, in fact. The writing style is familiar, but I’ve never been able to put my finger on it exactly.”

A slow look of realization dawned on Megatron’s face, and he reached out to take the datapad from Rung, browridge arched. “I thought this sounded familiar… it has been some time.”

The change in subject was oddly welcome for Rung, as it took the head off his unsettled behavior and turned it to the curious fact that Megatron seemed familiar with the writing of this author. “Oh? Were they someone you knew?”

Megatron snorted, and the sound was very nearly amused. “Close. More accurately, I am Aquarius. Or was, I suppose.” He ignored the shocked look on Rung’s face, continuing as he held up the datapad to give the writing a perusal. “I needed a name to use to separate the poetry I dabbled in from my political manifests. Primus, but this is extravagant. I haven’t written like this in a very long time.”

It took a few moments longer for Rung to find his voice again, but he finally managed to ask, “You also wrote… the more intimate poetry?”

That brought Megatron’s attention squarely back to Rung, and he looked genuinely surprised. “I… you have a collection of that poetry?”

“Yes. An old friend of mine was a lover of old prose, and voraciously collected any that he could find. He found a number of pieces of very personal poetry written by Aquarius- by you- from long before the war, and gave them to me as a gift. It was… quite the private gift, but I appreciated it, nonetheless.” He straightened his back a little, suddenly acutely aware of Megatron’s optics following every shift of his frame. “The language is a bit… flowery, but I do still enjoy reading it from time to time. Knowing it was written by you...”

It was now Megatron’s turn to look a bit flustered, and he quickly cleared static from his vocalizer, looking away. He was silent for a moment. “I do appreciate your… critique. Of course, I realize the knowledge that my writing has not always been of the rebellious sort has turned our meeting... somewhat awkward…”

His saying that seemed so absurd. Rung couldn’t fathom why, but all at once, he nearly choked on a laugh, his hand clasped over his mouth. “I’m- I’m so sorry. You haven’t- no, I was awkward from the start. I’m so sorry. This is… I feel as though I’m dragging you on through this. You deserve better than my beating around the proverbial bush. If anything… this has cleared the air. A bit of awkward for both of us is a baseline that can’t get much worse.”

When he looked up at Megatron, he saw that the ex-warlord had that smile again, this one a little more awkward. Whatever had happened, it seemed to break the stalemate, and he gave a short laugh himself. “You are… a unique individual, Rung.”

“One could say the same of you.” He let out a sigh, his joints relaxing as he did. If his awkwardness could make even Megatron chuckle, the rest of this should be a walk in the park. “I wasn’t lying, though, about you deserving the truth. The writing… was not the sole reason I was feeling… awkward.” He lifted his head, trying to find some courage to hang his words on. It wasn’t as though he was completely inexperienced in relationships - he had his fair share when he was much younger - but it was a bit of a different monster, confessing a sense of affection for one of the most feared warlords in the history of their age. “...rather, this… concerns you.”

Again, Megatron’s brow knitted, and again, he leaned forward. There was an expression of puzzlement and concern on his face, optics glowing a dark red. “Concerns… me? Do I make you uncomfortable in some way? When did this start?”

Rung frowned, fidgeting, his narrow fingers twisting together. “...the first time I caught you smiling, honestly.”

Megatron seemed genuinely taken aback by this notion, and he sat back in his chair, his optics searching Rung’s face for a hint of clarity. “My… smile makes you uncomfortable?” He considered this for a moment, then seemed to come to a conclusion, nodding slowly. “I can see how that would unsettle many people.”

“I- oh no, no, not in that way. You have a… very charming smile. It caught me quite unawares.” He watched as Megatron’s browridge rose even further. He had no idea whether or not this was going well at all, but by Primus, he was trying. “I have found myself… hoping to see your smile, more often than not. You are more handsome than I think you realize.”

The words almost spoke themselves, and almost immediately, he wished he could take them back, his hand covering his mouth as he stared up at Megatron, who - for the moment - just stared quietly back. It was just as he was opening his mouth to blurt out an apology that Megatron turned his head away, staring off at some undetermined point for a moment or so before he spoke. “That… is quite an admission, Doctor.”

The use of his title seemed to sober Rung a bit, and he coughed, lowering his head. “I apologize. That just… came out. I wasn’t thinking-”

“My question, before you continue, is if you’re serious.” He looked back now, and though he wasn’t smiling, his expression was almost unsettlingly soft. “I have never been mistaken for a romantic, at least not in my team leading the Decepticons, but most of those that have said such things have said it out of fear- of me, or for their own lives. You seem sincere. It’s… refreshing.” He paused. “I really am a bit out of practice, aren’t I? This sounds quite blunt.”

Rung watched him, the way he squirreled up his nose and dug his browridge deeper as he considered his words, the focusing points of light in his optics sweeping upward, to the side, focused back on him. He was much more expressive than he seemed in meetings, where he seemed to range between boredom and an inner war with himself on whether or not to ping a stylus off Rodimus’s helm. “I am… quite serious. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to say anything because I’ve come to deeply value your friendship. There aren’t many on the ship I can confide in without feeling it a breach of some level of trust. I didn’t want to lose that connection with you.”

By this time, he had looked away again, not wanting to watch the keen scrutiny in those optics. He was startled, then, when he felt his head turned back to the ex-warlord by a large, dark hand. “You do not have to fear me, Rung. I have very much enjoyed the time we’ve spent together… more than I have many things in a very long time. It’s… a release from a great deal of things that plague my mind. You certainly don’t need to fear telling me this.”

A moment of silence passed between them, and slowly, Rung forced himself to relax. He hadn’t been scolded or turned away for saying what had been on his mind, and that was already a bonus. He sighed, shuttering his optics briefly before he looked up. “So… the cards are on the table, then. Such as it were, in any case… what now?”

“I suppose that depends on how we would like to handle this. Mutually.” Megatron released Rung’s helm so he could lean back again. “We’ve both had our fair share of experience in this matter, I’m sure. Or…?”

“No, I have as well.” He pressed his lip plating together in a thin line. “Though it… has been some time. Are you all right with this?”

Megatron paused, then nodded. “I trust you. That is something I can’t say about many mechs. You are intelligent, I enjoy your company, and… I feel at ease around you. I would like to be as private about this as possible, however. Not only for my safety, but for yours.”

Rung noded. “That’s reasonable. And we are both private individuals.”

His words this time were rewarded by a faint smile on Megatron’s face. “Too true. Well. Then… we can certainly try this, if you’re willing.”

“I am.” He paused, then slowly stood, moving forward as he lifted one hand. “...may I?”

Very briefly, Megatron leaned back, but it passed quickly as he shifted, leaning forward with his arms crossed on his knees. “Yes.”

He wasn’t certain what had possessed him to do this, but when he pressed his fingertips lightly against the pliant metal of the ex-warlord’s face, he relaxed somewhat. This was something he would have to grow accustomed to, that warmth, and the closeness of someone who had been rumored only to let others this near him to kill them. There was hesitation in his movements, but Megatron simply sat still and quiet, waiting, until Rung was ready. The much smaller mech huffed out a small sigh, plating flaring, and finally he just pressed himself forward.

The initial contact was clumsy, awkward. Two mechs who had very little intimate contact with others in hundreds of thousands of years trying to find a way they fit, though Rung relaxed when Megatron responded, his optics shuttering at the feeling of a large hand curving around his back.

And just like that, it was over. He pulled back first, optics flickering as he made sense of what he’d done - what they had both done. But far from the dark scrutiny he had seen passed on to many others, Megatron was still smiling, and Rung found himself smiling back as he lifted his hands to touch his fingertips to that soft smile.

For now, this was more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Cybertronian zodiac: http://tfwiki.net/wiki/Cybertronian_zodiac


End file.
